His Forbidden Muse
I should let her go, should push her away, should turn around and leave before I do something we both can’t take back.
But fuck shoulds.
I tilt her chin, forcing her to look at me. “Who told you to cut this?” I murmur dusting my knuckles against the strands. She shivers.
“Let me go.” It’s getting repetitive with her let me go. I won’t.
I fist the back of her hair, jerking her head back, and before she can so much as whimper, I crush my mouth against hers.
The taste of her destroys me. It’s warm, sweet and forbidden. Like expensive whiskey and something I can’t place… something soft, something innocent and something I want to crush.